


Dead Men Walking

by lanestreets



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Avengers Family, Flashbacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, except i don't know how many parts this'll have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-05-27 16:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15028712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanestreets/pseuds/lanestreets
Summary: They don't always show it, but they've each got their own demons to battle. Peter keeps happening upon these battles.OR a bunch of times that Peter was there for the Avengers in a moment of need, and one time they were all there for him.





	1. Tony

**Author's Note:**

> once again, i am being selective with what i take away from AOU and i am tossing civil war out the window cause i can.

Tony Stark does not like the summer. 

He used to. He used to like the heat and the sun and the beach, and partying with girls he hardly knew and drugs and sex and booze. He used to like a lot of things. 

But then there was an explosion and open heart surgery in a cave in the middle of the desert and being held captive for months.

It’s, understandably sobering. 

Figuratively. 

Literally, not so much. 

Tony drinks more than ever when he returns from Afghanistan, though not in an attempt to get back into a partying kind of life. This is the kind of drinking he does to try to forget. 

It’s not really successful, but he sure as hell gives it his best shot. 

He’s still twitchy in the summer, still jumpier when the weather gets anywhere above seventy five degrees, still can’t sleep without the air conditioning on. 

He’s certain that Natasha and Clint, fucking  _ super spies _ , notice there is something off, and Pepper keeps giving him looks, this mix between concern, pity and disappointment, so Tony cuts back on the drinking and he covers up the reactions that get exacerbated by the heat, and no one else says anything, and it’s fine.

~*~

Vanko happens.

New York happens. 

The Mandarin and Killian happen.

It only gets worse. 

~*~

Drinking turns into spending all night tinkering in his workshop, and dangerous experiments and poor lab safety practices. He destroyed his suits, sure, but it’s not long before he has a legion of iron bots in their place and a new set of back up suits for just in case, and there’s a kid he’s found in New York so he obsessively researches him and makes a suit for the kid too, and then he decides that the rest of the team could use an upgrade, and then they find the Maximoff twins in Sokovia and he destroys the iron legion and makes the twins new suits instead and he does his very best to bury his own issues behind countless design projects and ideas. 

Pepper’s glad that he’s not trying to drink himself into oblivion anymore, she’s so much less stressed about him now. 

She doesn’t know that he’s not really trying very hard to keep himself alive, but what she doesn’t know won’t kill her.

~*~

Peter starts to notice something’s up with Tony as soon as he starts spending more time with the Avengers. 

It’s been made abundantly clear that he’s not a full-fledged team member yet, but he is spending the summer at the compound, training and learning what the team is like, with Aunt May’s permission of course. They all agree that if they can’t stop Peter from being Spiderman, at least they can improve his skills and keep him safer.

(Steve and Pepper take Peter back to the city to visit every Sunday. Before they head back to the compound, they all have dinner with May. It’s an event.)

It’s because of these trips that Peter starts to notice something off. 

Peter’s coming back into the compound with Steve and Pepper after a visit with Aunt May, when they run into Tony. “Mr. Stark!” Peter exclaims, interrupting himself. Pepper and Steve merely smile at him and continue on their way, Steve towards the gym no doubt, and Pepper towards the conference room, likely to catch up on phone calls and emails and whatever else she was always having to take care of. “I didn’t know today was the anniversary of the Battle of New York. Ned said they were playing footage all over Times Square, and it was playing on TVs in every bodega and in all the windows we passed in Queens, it was crazy! You guys don’t ever talk about that so I never really thought about it, but I never like, said thank you or anything. I was in the city when all that happened, me and Aunt May and Uncle Ben. You guys kinda-- Mr. Stark, are you okay?”

And that’s when Tony snaps his head up and looks at Peter with wide eyes, and Peter actually takes a step back because he wasn’t expecting that at all. 

Tony takes a moment, shakes his head and then plasters a smile that Peter can tell is fake on his face and says, “Yeah, kid, I’m great. Go spar with Captain Spangles or something. Burn off all that energy you seem to have or whatever. I’ve got work to do.” 

That’s a blunter dismissal than Peter’s used to. He knows that sometimes he’s going to catch people at a bad time, and he’s fine with being told that they’re busy at the moment, but they’re usually kind enough to at least tell him they’ll talk later, or apologize for having to run or cut their conversation short. Tony can be short, but he’s never really outright rude to Peter or any of the team. 

Peter really wonders if he’s okay. 

But Tony doesn’t seem in the mood for talking, so Peter nods and says goodbye and files that all away for later. 

A sparring session with Steve and Natasha later and Peter’s concern has fallen far to the back of his mind. Tony’s an adult. Peter’s sure he can handle whatever’s got him on edge.

The days grow hotter and Tony’s mood worsens. 

Peter asks Steve if he knows what’s going on. 

Steve says that maybe Tony hasn’t gotten enough sleep recently, and that he’ll check on him. 

Peter forgets. 

And then two weeks later, they have the worst heatwave that New York State has seen in quite a few years. Peter stays up late talking to Ned and MJ in the middle of it and before he knows it, it’s 2 in the morning and he’s still awake. To be fair, his friends are awake too, so it’s not totally his fault. 

Then Peter hears a crash from somewhere out in the common area, so far away and muffled that he only hears it because of his enhanced senses. The hairs on his arm stand up straight and he knows something’s definitely wrong. 

He shushes Ned and MJ and ignores the way their expressions both turn serious and concerned in their little boxes on his screen.

“Something’s wrong, I gotta go,” he says quickly, and he shuts his laptop before they can ask him any questions. He creeps out of his room, not worried about waking his neighbor because Vision is a robot and also probably in Wanda’s room anyway, but still wanting to keep quiet until he figures out what’s going on. 

He gets out into the common area and doesn’t see anyone or anything out of place, so he ventures a little further, until he’s been through all of their shared space on this floor except for the kitchen. 

He’s approaching the kitchen doorway when he hears Steve’s voice, and he lets out a breath. Steve’s there. Whatever it is must be handled if Steve’s there. But still curious, he presses forward just a little more to see who Steve’s talking to and why there was crashing going on.

Steve sounds a little worried when he speaks, and that makes Peter worried, so he steps even closer. “Come on. It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” Steve’s saying and Peter’s feet are moving without him really being able to stop them. 

When he steps into the kitchen fully, he doesn’t see anything, but he smells freshly brewed coffee, and he can see the full pot on the counter. He can’t see anything else though. And then he hears shuffling, and he steps close enough to peer around the kitchen island and he sees Steve crouched on the floor next to Tony, a shattered mug in the center of a puddle next to them. Someone must have dropped a mug of coffee. 

Tony must have dropped a mug of coffee. He’s the only one who would brew it at this hour. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter says softly, voice barely above a whisper. 

Tony and Steve’s attention snaps to him. 

Tony’s eyes are blown wide and scared and Peter’s never seen any of the adults around the compound look like that, never seen anyone look that scared, aside from civilians in the middle of battles. But he knows that look can only go along with one thing. He knows the feeling. He felt it when Toomes dropped a building on him. 

Panic. Sheer, unadulterated, unbridled panic.

Tony’s having a panic attack, or he’s just coming down from one. 

Judging from the way he’s holding himself, Peter’s assuming it’s the latter. 

“Peter,” Steve says, his tone gentle, but still very, very serious. “What are you doing up. It’s late, you should be in bed.” 

“I’m sorry, Captain Rogers--”

“Steve,” Steve corrects, a knee jerk reaction. Peter nods. He always forgets that. 

“Steve. I was up talking to my friends, and I lost track of time and then I heard a crash and I just came to see what it was. Thought it might be something a little worse than a mug. Maybe Hawkeye was trying to steal from the cookie jar or something,” he jokes and Tony looks just a little less stiff, so Peter keeps going. Steve must notice it too, because he doesn’t stop Peter as he comes further into the kitchen, perching himself on the corner of the kitchen island, opposite Steve and Tony, carefully avoiding the glass on the floor. “Mr. Stark, I was telling Ned and MJ, uh, they’re the friends I was talking to, I go to school with them, I was telling them about the upgrades to my suit we were working on, and they thought it was so cool. Oh! I told them about the arrowheads you were helping Agent Barton design too, and MJ started talking about all these ideas she was coming up with for them, and she was saying that maybe we could create an arrowhead with my web-fluid in it, so he could have like a net arrow or something, She had some idea about something for Agent Romanoff too. She’s ridiculously smart. Anyway, I was thinking that I haven’t really been able to spend time with them lately and I’ve been away so much, that maybe it might be cool if her and Ned could come visit for a day this week or something. Only if you’re all okay with it of course. I mean, I am a guest here,” Peter says, quieting towards the end of his rambling. 

It seems to have done its job though. Tony doesn’t look quite so pale as he did when Peter arrived, and he manages to nod and choke out, “Yeah. S’fine, kid. Just can’t let them into any restricted areas.” His voice sounds strained, but Steve breathes a sigh of relief and Peter assumes that this is the first Tony’s spoken in a while. 

Peter starts talking again, just throwing around ideas, things he could do with his friends and how excited he is to be able to show them the compound, and to let them meet a couple of the team and work with him, because they’ve been so worried about him and he misses them as much as he’s excited to be here, and he goes on and on and on, until Tony finally stops looking like he’s about to jump out of his skin. There’s still a haunted, hollow look in his eyes, and he doesn’t look all too aware of what’s happening, but he’s at least not as tense. 

“Mr. Stark, are you okay?” Peter finally asks.

“S’the heat. Makes me jumpy. Just a little bad dream is all,” Tony says, dismissively.

Steve’s brow furrows. “You want to talk about it, Tony?”

Tony lets out a wretched sounding laugh. “Do you want to hear about the time that someone stuck their hand in my chest while I was awake to make sure shrapnel didn’t shred my heart?” This time his laugh is derisive. Sharp. “Thought not.” He glances up at Peter and his expression crumples a little but Peter just gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. 

Steve’s the one who speaks though. “We’d listen if that’s what you needed to say.”

Tony sighs and shakes his head. 

“You’re both up too late anyway.” The clock on the oven reads 3:27. “You’ve gotta go to bed, kid. You could use some rest too, Rogers. I’ve got to finish up some things in my worksh--”

“You’ve got to get some rest. Go to sleep Tony. Whatever it is can wait till tomorrow. You’ll be more focused then. Pepper will be back from Beijing tomorrow morning too. Just… go back to bed, and call if you need me. But at least try getting some rest, Steve says, and Peter nods in agreement.

Tony sighs, but nods, and shuffles off towards the living quarters, while Steve stoops to clean the mess of the broken mug. 

“FRIDAY, let me know if anything happens with Tony, okay?” Steve says, as he throws away the last pieces of the mug and cleans up the spill. 

“Of course, Captain Rogers,” the AI responds. 

Peter is still perched on the counter. 

“Thank you for that, Peter,” Steve finally says, clapping a hand onto his shoulder. He gets close enough to give Peter a quick one armed hug, and then picks him up off the counter and places him on his feet. “It was really great of you to help out like that. Now go to bed, kid, and you can have FRIDAY call me if you need anything too.”

Peter gives Steve a tired smile and yawns and nods and stumbles back to his room with his eyes only half open, suddenly exhausted. 

He realizes as he’s falling asleep that he has no idea what Steve was doing up in the first place, how he could have known that Tony needed help, but Peter’s forgotten the concern by the time he wakes up.


	2. Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter discusses brief suicidal ideation by a character in the past

The incident with Tony opens Peter’s eyes to a lot of things. Sure, he’s noticed the way that some of the team will sometimes get cagey when certain topics are brought up, Clint and the Battle of New York, the twins and Sokovia, Steve and World War II, Bruce and his life post-Hulk, pre-Avengers.

It doesn’t take a doctorate to tell that the Avengers’ life experiences have had an impact on their lives. But Peter’s just getting a grasp on the severity of it now. He gets up in the night to get a glass of water from the kitchen, and hears what he thinks is Clint in the firing range, testing out the new arrows MJ and Ned and Peter helped him come up with, or he hears Tony in his workshop, with Rhodey trying to make him go to sleep, or someone, Natasha maybe, working over a sparring dummy in the gym, or Pietro wearing a trench in the running track. He jerks out of a recurring bad dream about running out of web fluid and he’s certain he hears someone down the hall crying in their room. 

It’s intense. 

They’re all wearing masks. Not just literally. 

Peter learns to focus his hearing better. 

And then, almost out of nowhere, Sam and Steve bring the Winter Soldier home. 

Steve takes Tony to the side and the two have a hushed argument that lasts for almost an hour and ends with Tony storming away. Peter doesn’t listen in, but over the next couple days he gathers what happened. 

The Winter Soldier is Steve’s best friend Bucky. The Winter Soldier murdered Tony’s parents. Tony is processing. Steve is playing peacekeeper. Bucky is mostly just having a lot of nightmares. 

The atmosphere around the compound goes from the generally relaxed feeling to near unbearably tense rather rapidly. With Steve’s attention understandably focused elsewhere, the team training schedule he had encouraged them all to uphold falls apart, and they each settle back into the training routines they’re comfortable in. Tony’s completely withdrawn to his lab, Bruce disappeared with him. Wanda and Pietro keep to themselves, Vision occasionally joining the mix, if he’s not completely MIA. Rhodey spends most of his time acting as a messenger between Pepper and Tony, because Tony’s not picking up his phone and Pepper’s on a business trip again and worried sick about Tony. Natasha and Clint pair off as they often do, doing assassin things that Peter doesn’t want to ask about. They keep needling him to train though, so he does spar with them (read: get his ass kicked), when they ask. Sam makes sure he’s taking care of himself too, in a more normal human sort of way, joking that he has to take over for Steve as team dad. Peter thinks that Sam is very worried about Steve. 

He thinks everyone is very worried about Steve. 

The way that the Win--Bucky. Sergeant Barnes. James. Not the Soldier. The way that Bucky prowls around the compound like he’s expecting to be jumped at any second does not help settle anyone’s nerves. He’s jumpy and skittish around everyone who isn’t Steve, but he’s not violent, and he’s so wildly gentle with Steve that no one says anything about it. 

Peter can tell that they all feel some kind of pity for Bucky as well, for the way his expression sometimes goes blank, like he’s forgotten how to function for a moment, and the way he sometimes forgets how to speak anything that’s not Russian, and the way that he sometimes uses his metal arm just a touch too forcefully and gets this wide-eyed, terrified look and mutters out near frantic apologies until someone reassures him that he’s fine, and that no one’s upset about it. 

Steve usually looks just as upset as Bucky does after all of those episodes, though he covers it up well whenever someone looks at him. 

He doesn’t notice that Peter notices. 

But Peter notices, and Peter’s worried. He’s seen how badly Tony’s experiences and traumas are still affecting him. 

Steve’s dealing with war-time trauma and everything else he’s dealt with plus being thrown into a new century and dealing with everything that Bucky’s going through. 

Everyone’s been very focused on Bucky, recently. 

Peter wonders who’s been there for Steve, in all of the commotion. 

The answer, as Peter suspected, turns out to be no one. 

Steve’s a pretty good actor, and with the obviousness of Bucky’s troubles, Steve’s sort of faded into the background, as have his issues, obviously. He slaps on a smile, and says he’s fine and everyone believes him because he’s Captain America, but Peter can see the cracks he’s trying to hide. 

(His Spidey-sense goes buckwild whenever Steve’s near him.)

He’s up talking to Aunt May late one night; it’s a weekend and she’s got something to take care of, so Peter can’t go down to visit, but she still wanted to be able to talk to him, because she loves him and misses him and she worries cause he’s just a kid. 

He argues that the Maximoffs are only two years older than he is, but May just snaps at him and reminds him that the Maximoffs are not her kids, as welcome as they would be in her home. Peter is her kid, and she is bound to worry. Peter smiles and tells her that he loves her and promises that he will bring Wanda and Pietro down to the city to show them around and give them a proper family dinner, which May has been insisting he do since she learned that they were only kids too. 

He says good night and shuts his laptop and cracks his back and pops his knuckles and tries to get comfortable and still can’t sleep, and it’s late, but not that late, so he decides to venture down to the kitchen for a glass of water and maybe a snack if there’s anything he can easily scrounge up in the fridge. 

He makes it to the end of the hallway before he hears the voices and they make him freeze in his tracks, because that is most definitely Steve and Bucky, talking in soft voices. Bucky’s sounds soft, like he’s talking to a scared animal. Steve sounds, well, like he’s the cornered, scared animal. 

“Steve, come on, quit tellin’ me you’re fine! I can tell that you’re not. The bags under your eyes are bigger than our old army duffels. Jesus, Rogers, even Stark’s worried about you, and we’re just about his least favorite people on the planet right now.”

Steve’s voice sounds very carefully, forcedly calm. “I am fine, Buck. I’ve just been worried about you. Chasing you around the world and helping you out now that you’re here, it’s all worth it, of course, but it’s not exactly a walk in the park.”

“You know I’ve been starting to remember a lot of stuff,” Bucky says then, and Peter really, really wants to leave, because he knows he should not be eavesdropping like this, but he can’t make his damn feet move. 

“I know Buck,” Steve says, genuinely relieved sounding. “It’s really good. I’m glad that you’re getting some of it back.”

“It’s not all good,” Bucky says bluntly. Peter can imagine Steve flinching subtly in reaction, trying to keep it contained. Again, Peter thinks that he should not be here. But the hairs on his arms are all sticking straight up and he has this very, very strong feeling that something is wrong and he can’t fucking make himself move. 

Steve sighs. “Jesus, I’m sorry, I know it can’t be easy, but Sam has that therapist lined up and I know you’re not sure but you could just try it and--”

“I think you should go see her, Steve.”

That’s not what Peter was expecting. 

“What?” Steve, apparently, was not expecting it either. 

“I think you should see the therapist that Sam was talking about. I’ll work up to it, I will. But I think you should see her now.” Bucky’s tone is firm, not leaving room for argument. Steve is Steve though, so he argues anyway.

“What for? I told you I’m fine, you giant--”

“You were ready to die,” Bucky says, and Steve stops making any noise at all. Peter inhales sharply and someone shuffles on the bed in the room. “Who’s out there?”

Peter sheepishly pokes his head into the door to Steve’s room. Steve and Bucky are sitting facing each other on the bed, the sheets rumpled beneath them. Steve’s just wearing a pair of sweats and a tank top that looks like it’s working too hard, and Bucky’s wearing a long sleeved shirt, tugged down to cover his prosthetic, and their backs are both bowed like they bear the weight of worlds on them. 

“Kid, what are you doing?” Bucky nearly growls and Peter just barely keeps himself from yelping. 

“I was just going for a glass of water and I heard you guys and then my Spidey-sense went all…” he holds up his arm, where his hair still stands on end. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, I just knew something was wrong and… Capt-- Steve, what’d he mean you were ready to die?” Peter asks, quiet, small, every inch the child that he is. 

Steve just hunches his shoulders more, tries to hide the bulk that he carries now. He looks away from Peter and Bucky, head bowed. 

“When Steve took down the helicarriers,” Bucky says, continuing on with what he was saying before Peter interrupted. 

“Don’t tell the kid, Bucky, Jesus, he doesn’t need to know this.”

“Know what? That you’re not okay? Everyone knows what I did to you, Steve, they just don’t know that you let it happen!”

Peter raises his hand a little, to catch attention. “Uh, let what happen?”

“When I was still trying to kill Steve, before I broke my programming, Steve was going to let me complete my mission. He was going to let me kill him. He was ready to die, and he’s not thinking anything of it. If I hadn’t remembered just enough just in time, and gone after him, he’d have been lying on the bottom of the Potomac. And he thinks it’s fucking fine.”

Peter’s gone a little tense and the angry tone in Bucky’s voice, but he recognizes it for what it really is, fear and concern. 

And Peter’s a little afraid and a little concerned too, cause it sounds a whole lot like Bucky’s saying that Steve’s a little bit passively suicidal and yeah, that’s actually terrifying. 

“Steve?” Peter says softly, and Steve’s eyes very slowly slide over to Peter, and Peter can see that he’s definitely holding back tears. “I don’t want to overstep or anything, but I think Sergeant Barnes is right. I think it might be a good idea to maybe talk to whoever Sam’s got in mind, cause he’s pretty good in that area, so I’d trust who he picks and also therapy’s really good for you.”

“There are plenty of people with real problems who need the help more than I do, Peter. I’m fine,” Steve insists. Bucky opens his mouth, an angry set to his eyebrows, but Peter beats him to it. 

“You know, when my parents died, I had to go to therapy. Court mandated and all that. And I hated it and I didn’t make use of it for a long time, cause I thought it made me different and I thought it was wasting my aunt and uncle’s time, but after a while, I actually started talking to my therapist and it actually started helping. I was even gonna go back after my Uncle Ben died too, we just couldn’t afford it. It’s not just for a certain type of person, I saw so many different people in the waiting room, and just cause someone might’ve had it worse doesn’t mean that you can’t still be having a tough time. And you seem like you’ve had a pretty rough time, I think,” Peter says softly, looking at his intertwined fingers. When he glances up, Steve and Bucky are both staring at him in different ways. “Sorry, I know I’m just a kid and that this is probably way, way intrusive and I’m totally not staying in my lane, I just thought I could at least say it, I’m sorry for--”

“Don’t be sorry, kid. He needed to hear it,” Bucky says, and then he looks at Steve. “If I’m allowed to get help, then you’re allowed to need help, Steve. Doesn’t matter how much or how little. The kid’s right, you fat-head.”

Steve just nods slowly, and very, very carefully, unfolds himself from the uncomfortable looking hunched position he’d forced himself into. He stands and Peter’s struck again by how much  _ space _ Steve takes up when he’s not trying to make himself small like he usually is. 

“I’ll think about it, okay, Peter? I promise you, I’ll think about it, and I’ll talk to Sam about some recommendations. It’s late. You should get to bed,” Steve says quietly, drawing Peter into a quick hug. “I’m sorry you had to hear all that about me.”

Peter just waves him off, and steps towards the door when Bucky does. “Don’t worry about it. Everyone has moments, I guess. I won’t say anything to the others, if you don’t want me to.”

“That’d be good,” Bucky says, herding Peter out the door. When it closes behind them, Bucky sags a little. “Thank you, really, Peter. I was trying to get him to budge on that topic for so damn long. You’ve got a way about you kid. It’s good. Now get some rest. It’s late.” Bucky ruffles his hair and nudges him back down the hall towards his room. 

Peter does not miss that fact that Bucky just steps back into Steve’s room, instead of heading for his own. 

~*~

The next morning, there’s a pamphlet for the therapist’s office he used to go to sitting on the counter by his seat at breakfast with a sticky note inside. 

_ In case you wanted to go back during the school year, the cost would be covered. Thank you.  _

_ ~S _


	3. The Maximoffs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick reminder that in this fic, the maximoffs are ~17, because that's what i wanted.

May continues to dog Peter about bringing the Maximoffs to the city, so the next weekend, he finally obliges. 

He’s really glad he did, in the end. 

Wanda and Pietro  _ light _ up once they’re in the city and Peter thinks he’s the luckiest person in the world, to see his friends look like that. 

“We have never seen New York City before,” Wanda tells him, and Pietro nods along and continues to munch happily on the hotdogs Peter had gotten for him. 

It’s a sharp reminder that nothing in Pietro and Wanda’s lives has been normal, that they’ve never had the chance to just be kids, that they were forced to grow up way too fast, and Peter finds himself wanting to protect them despite the fact that they’re older than him and can very clearly take care of themselves. They are, after all, full fledged Avengers, while he is stuck in the compound just training and training and training. 

Peter shoves that thought away. Jealousy is an ugly look on anyone, and besides, today is all about giving the Maximoffs a day off. Today is all about them. Peter is not going to rain on that parade by being a downer about his Avenger status. He’s not. 

Steve catches up with them then, having delivered Pepper safely to whatever office building she was needed in, never one to let a lady walk the streets of New York alone. To let anyone walk the streets of New York alone, really. Steve’s just a nice guy like that. 

“You’ve gotten started without me,” Steve says, with an overly dramatic pout. Peter just smiles and passes him a hotdog, and the pout disappears instantly. Peter smirks. The way to Steve’s heart is through his stomach. 

“You all eat like slobs,” Wanda complains. 

Pietro makes a point to talk with his mouth full. “You try feeding an enhanced metabolism.” And then he grins as he swallows and almost chokes, and that makes Steve and Peter laugh and Wanda cracks a smile and Peter forgets the inkling of bitterness he was harboring before. 

They take the subway to Brooklyn, and Steve shows them where he grew up, takes them on a walk through his past, through what the history books missed. He shows them where the apartment he shared with Bucky used to stand, and where he finally enlisted and he points out several alleys and parking lots he got the shit kicked out of him in. They cover less than five square city blocks on Steve’s stroll down memory lane. It’s impressive, the number of those that Steve can remember. Pietro gets a kick out of it though, and Peter does too, especially because Peter could give a similar tour of Queens, though his beat downs have all been Spiderman related, and he’s always come out on top. Wanda just looks mostly concerned about Steve. But Steve has this wistful, almost-sad-but-not-quite smile on his face the whole time, so none of them express their opinions either way until they’re back on the subway heading for Queens. 

“You got beat up a lot,” Pietro remarks, sounding almost in awe of the sheer number of incidents Steve had told them about. 

Steve huffs out a short little laugh, brightening up just a touch. “Yeah. I did. I didn’t like the fighting, I just never liked letting people get away with being assholes. I was pretty stubborn, but a lot of the time, I didn’t have the steam to keep up in a scrap.” 

Steve really sounds like he’s from Brooklyn, reminiscing like this, with a far off look in his eye and a quirk to the corner of his mouth. He seems happy, and a little less stressed than he’s been, and that makes Peter grin, a private little smile just for him, and maybe Steve, if he sees it, because he’s happy that Steve is happy. Peter thinks Steve deserves it. 

The Maximoffs look pretty happy too, a little awestruck by the big city experience. Peter’s really happy he’s been able to give them this. A normal day playing tourist in New York, without having to worry about the threat of imminent danger or any sort of superhero business. They get to be normal kids, with their normal adult Steve, doing normal people things in the city. Peter’s loving it. He hasn’t felt this… free in a long time. Maybe next time he comes to the city, he can bring the Maximoffs again, and they can meet up with Ned and MJ, and get a real tour around Queens, not just touristy stuff. 

That’s a plan for later, though. Now? Now they have a dinner with May to look forward to. May had insisted they come down for the whole weekend, to get Peter and the twins away from what May called ‘a glorified military base that’s no suitable place for children to be living’, so they’re all cramming into the Parker’s tiny apartment, Steve included, to stay the weekend. May’s laying out sheets and a pillow on the couch in the living room and dragging an air mattress to Peter’s room when they get back to the apartment. Based on the lengths she’s going to, and the concerns she’s already shown, Peter honestly thinks that May’s on the verge of offering to adopt the Maximoffs. 

Steve offers to help with dinner, once May and Peter have gotten the air mattress set up in Peter’s room, and the two of them set about doing that, while Peter shows Wanda and Pietro the game console hooked up to the TV. For all his speed, it turns out Pietro sucks at Mario Kart. Wanda finds this hilarious. 

Peter’s only got two controllers, so he lets Wanda and Pietro have at it, and glances into the kitchen, only to find May blushing furiously when Steve places a gentle hand on her back to let her know he’s moving behind her. Peter doesn’t want to see his aunt trying and failing to flirt with Captain America, so he turns his attention back to the screen, where Pietro is in last place, while Wanda is crossing the finish line, in first, cackling with glee.

Peter smiles. He’s never seen them like this. 

Wanda and Pietro have always been so serious, every time Peter’s hung out with them, never just letting go like this. Peter thinks that they’ve been forced to grow up too quickly. It’s unfortunate, because they deserve this kind of fun in their lives. 

For all the bad choices they’d made in the past, they’ve been working hard to make up for it. They’ve been doing so much good for others, they deserve some good for themselves, don’t they?

Pietro finally crosses the finish line in eleventh place, and Steve calls them to the table for dinner. 

The table’s a little crowded, what there being five of them, instead of the usual two, but it’s not bad. It feels right. Like family. 

Steve and May still get on like a house on fire, which Peter still thinks is Dangerous, with a capital D, and when May offers to get out Peter’s baby pictures, Peter has to cut in abruptly. 

“So, Wanda and Pietro had a good time in the city today! It’s the first time they’ve been, outside of Avengers business,” Peter says, to shift the attention away from himself.

“Oh really?” May says, smiling towards the twins.

They nod in unison and Wanda says, “It’s the first time we’ve really seen a big American city. It was incredible. Almost overwhelming.”

“The first go around can be. You’re both more than welcome to come down here whenever you need a break from whatever you’ve all got going on upstate. You too Steve. You’re all too young to be wasting away in some military compound, only leaving to save the world.” 

She eyes Peter heavily, making him cow under her stare. 

“Ma’am, I’m almost a hundred years old,” Steve tries, and May scoffs. 

“Last I checked, you crashed that plane when you were twenty-four. You woke up, what, four years ago? You’re twenty-eight, Steven.” 

Steve, understandably, does not argue that. He stabs something on his plate with his fork, and looks appropriately chastised while he chews. Peter didn’t think that Captain Steve Rogers himself could look like that. It’s almost funny. 

Pietro plows right through Steve’s reaction, as he usually does, always moving a thousand times faster than the rest of them.

“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Parker,” he says, with a small, but genuine, smile.

May waves her hand at him. “Oh shut up, call me May.”

Pietro smiles a little wider at that. Wanda grins too, and a wisp of red magic flits from her hand so she can get the salt and pepper without reaching across the table. 

“May,” Wanda repeats, as she sets the salt and pepper down next to her. “It means so much to us, for you to invite us into your home like this.”

“Don’t mention it, honey. How’d you two get tangled up in this whole mess anyway? Stuck up at a superheroes base, when you should be in school,” May asks, sticking a piece of broccoli in her mouth pointedly. “Do you have family anywhere that misses you?”

Peter makes a aborted movement, like he was maybe going to try to wave May off, but he was too late to stop her from asking that question only half way through the gesture. Wanda and Pietro both freeze for a moment, and May seems to realize immediately that she’s done something like step on a landmine. 

“We can talk about something else if you’d like,” she says quietly, sincerely. 

Wanda shakes her head and gives a shaky smile. “No, it is okay. We do not have any other family. Our parents were… they died when we were young. It’s just been us since then.”

“That is how our anger got the better of us. It is why we agreed to work with HYDRA, even though we didn’t agree with everything they stood for. We wanted revenge, or something like that, because they had used Stark Industries technology to destroy our home and kill our parents,” Pietro finishes, places a hand over one of Wanda’s. 

Peter’s Spidey-sense itches in his ears, but not in the usual grating, terrifying way. It’s quieter, more of a dull ringing. The hairs on his arms are standing on end, sure, but he doesn’t feel the tell-tale pushing behind his ribs, the anxiety of something about to go wrong. 

His Spidey-sense isn’t telling him that anyone’s in danger. It’s telling him that the Maximoffs are upset.

Which, he didn’t need Spidey-sense to tell him that, but it’s nice to know he can sense that, he guesses. 

His mouth twists into a little bit of a frown, and Steve cocks his head to the side a little, fixing his attention on the twins. May stares on with open emotion, not concealing anything, like Peter is, like Peter’s sure Steve is.

It’s one of the things Peter’s always loved about May. He’s never had to guess what she’s thinking. She always shows it, or comes out and says it. She’s a very frank person like that. 

The table sits in very tense silence for a moment before Peter speaks up. “I was kinda angry, after my parents died too. It was different, you know? What happened to them was an accident. But I was still angry, all the time. That they left me. And after my Uncle Ben died, I was angry with myself, cause I could’ve stopped it, if I had just stepped up.” Peter’s voice is very quiet, his gaze fixed on the table, but as he speaks, the hairs on his arms start to lay back down, and the ringing in his ears starts to die down, so he presses forward. “But in the end. I made something of it. Spiderman is because I wanted to protect others from feeling that way. You guys did that too.”

Steve opens his mouth to speak, but May beats him to it. 

“From everything Peter has told me about the two of you, you’ve done nothing but try to make up for your mistakes since the Avengers found you in Sokovia. You have helped so many people, risked your own lives to protect others, you’ve saved lives. Now, Peter knows how much I hate you kids putting your lives on the line like that, but I can’t deny the sheer amount of good you’ve done. I admire that you’ve got the courage to do that,” May says, with a note of finality. She takes a deep breath and leans back in her chair. “And if you’ve got no family, I guess we’ll just have to do. You two should come down to visit with Peter on the weekends more often. Even without Peter. If you want to come down during the school year, I’ll take you out to lunch or something.”

“May’s right. Sometimes family is something you choose,” Steve adds in a quiet tone, with a soft smile. 

Wanda discreetly wipes a tear away from her cheek. 

Pietro gives them the widest, most sincere smile that Peter’s ever seen on him. 

Dinner passes by quietly after that. 

~*~

The next weekend, when Peter goes to find Steve and Pepper to head into the city once again, he finds Wanda and Pietro waiting with them.


	4. Bruce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this is sometime around civil war? or maybe after? but thor and bruce are back? and civil war never actually happened who cares. i don't. fuck timelines. i'm god here.
> 
> peter gets a hand in supporting people this chapter. 
> 
> ALSO ALWAYS READ THE LABELS ON YOUR CHEMICALS AND PRACTICE GOOD LAB SAFETY KIDS!

Peter doesn’t know when he became Bruce’s unofficial official lab assistant, but he is most definitely that. Bruce has been delving into some chemistry lately, and he heard about Peter’s web fluid and things spiralled out of control from there, rather quickly. If Peter’s not training with Steve and Sam, or playing video games with the Maximoffs and Clint during the day, he’s most likely in Banner’s lab with him. Tony is furious that Bruce stole Peter, but if Peter’s honest, he’s always been a little more interested in chemistry than in tech. Not that he doesn’t love the work he’s been able to help Tony with, but still. 

Plus, Bruce’s lab is neater than Tony’s and he actually lets Peter run some experiments, rather than being constantly relegated to assisting. 

It’s a lot more relaxing. Peter goes to Tony’s lab when he wants to play a hand in something blowing up. 

He comes to to Bruce’s lab to really do science. They both get so wrapped up in their projects, it’s like nothing else exists, the world narrowing to the work on their benches. 

Which is exactly how they end up still in the lab at one in the morning, while the rest of the compound sleeps. Even Tony’s returned to his quarters for the night. They should definitely be asleep. But they’re so close to making this reaction work correctly, so neither of them mention the hour, and they continue working. Peter’s been holding the same container of chemicals for what feels like an eternity.

“Peter, pass me the methanoic acid?” Bruce asks, for the third time that hour, because they’ve been doing this same reaction forever, and they will be doing this reaction forever, because they can’t seem to get it right. 

Peter blindly reaches back to where he placed the container last time and passes it to Bruce, blinking slowly. He’s so goddamn tired, but they’re so close, they have to get this right and then they can record their results and go to sleep. 

Bruce accepts the container without question, and begins to repeat the steps of the experiment, with the adjusted values they’d decided on for this go around, 

And then the entire thing  _ blows up _ in Bruce’s face. Not figuratively. Literally. 

The entire set up they’ve got catches fire faster than Peter can even track, and that’s when Peter realizes that the container in his hand is the one with the methanoic acid, and the one he had given Bruce was the container of very high molar nitric acid, and  _ oh shit. _

“Bruce? Bruce!” Peter says, leaping up from where he’s perched on a stool, and rushing closer to Bruce to make sure he hadn’t been injured. 

Peter doesn’t make it more than two steps towards him before Bruce is throwing out a hand between them, his fingers flexed uncomfortably, and his veins slowly beginning to turn green. 

FRIDAY activates the fire suppression system, and the sudden noise and coolness that accompanies the extinguishing foam just makes Bruce jerk in a truly horrifying fashion. 

“Code Green,” Bruce bites out, in a strange gravelly voice, and Peter hears locks engage in the lab doors as they slide shut. 

Peter swallows. 

_ Fuck.  _

“Bruce?” Peter says softly, and Bruce’s eyes snap up to meet Peter. 

They are wide and bloodshot and  _ green _ . 

_ FUCK _ .

“Oh god,” Bruce mutters, though it’s a little more like a grunt, because his teeth are gritting together hard enough that Peter thinks he might actually crack them. “Peter,” Bruce tries, and then he groans, and smacks a fist against the lab bench. The hit is hard enough that the table caves under his fist, crumbling to pieces at his feet. 

The green veins are creeping up his neck. 

His skin has a sickly hue to it. 

And Peter is stuck in a room with him. 

“Bruce? Dr. Banner?” Peter says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

His spidey-sense if going off the fucking charts. The grating in his ears is so loud he can barely hear himself think and the press inside his chest feels like it might shove straight through his ribs at this point because Bruce is hulking out, right here and the Code Green Protocol has already been instituted, so Peter is  _ stuck in the lab with the Hulk. _

Bruce’s attention snaps to Peter from the pile of lab bench he’s created on the floor. 

“I’m….I’m sorry,” Bruce gasps out, his eyes wide with something Peter’s never seen in him before.

Fear. 

Peter’s seen Bruce worried, and concerned, and all manner of things, but he’s never seen Bruce afraid. 

And he’s afraid for Peter, because he thinks he’s going to hurt Peter, because he’s  _ hulking out! _

Bruce is panting now, his body jerking in a really, really gross kind of way. He groans and braces his hand against the remains of the lab bench, all his focus on breathing again.

Peter hears bones begin to crack and shift and grind together, and he decides that’s it, he’s done freaking out. He needs to do something or he’s maybe probably going to die and he’d like to remain living, and he also thinks that Bruce will probably be really upset if he kills Peter. 

“Bruce, hey,” Peter says, to catch Bruce’s attention, for the third time. “Hey. I really need you to calm down right now. You got out the Code Green alert before I could get out, so we’re stuck in here together, and if you really go all the way green, I think it’ll end bad. So I’d really, really like it if we could start to cool it. Just a bit. Please?” 

Bruce just grunts and shakes his head, and then lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a growl. 

“Okay. So. That’s not gonna work. All right. Hey, FRIDAY?” 

“Yes, Mr. Parker?” FRIDAY responds immediately. HE’d almost say she sounds concerned, but she’s a robot, and he doesn’t think that’s possible. 

“Have Steve and Mr. Stark been alerted to the, uh, the situation, here? Cause if they haven’t, you should most definitely wake them both up. Like. Immediately. Please. Thanks.”

Tony and Steve make it to the lab in absolute record time. And oh look, Bucky’s there too. Cool. 

“Peter?” Tony calls over the intercom in alarm, the second they can see what’s going on. The three of them go from sleep-mussed and blinking slowly to on-alert and wide eyed in seconds. 

“Uh, hey, guys. So. Minor lab accident. That’s taken care of. But. Uh. Hah. Bruce called out the Code Green before I could get out. So. Issue,” Peter says, glancing between Bruce and Tony. “Can you… something?”

Tony’s face falls, and Peter really wants to stop seeing the adults in his life looking so afraid. 

“Kid,” Tony’s voice crackles over the intercom, and Peter exhales slowly, because that does not sound good. “Only Bruce’s access code can override a Code Green.” 

Great. 

Peter hears Steve shout, “What the  _ fuck  _ do you--” before Tony cuts the intercom. Bucky flat out leaves the area. Peter’s hands are trembling. 

“Bruce,” he tries again. Bruce is more Hulk than Bruce when he looks at Peter this time. “Look at me. Please. You need to get a handle over this. You’re stronger than this. Please.” Bruce’s skin color shifts horrifically, a mottled green-pink-green that looks like a bad bruise. 

The intercom crackles on for a split second. Peter certain it was an accident, but he still hears, “--made me change it after what Wanda did before--” 

Peter knows what Wanda did before. 

Peter gets an idea. 

He opens the intercom from his end, just as Bucky returns with a tablet. 

Bucky growls, “Fix this, Stark,” and shoves the tablet at Tony, and Peter is grateful for the thought, but Tony rewriting this bit of FRIDAY’s programming will take too long. 

“Steve!” Peter says, and all three of them look to him through the walls of the lab. “Go wake up the twins! Now!”

Steve leaves, fast, without a question. 

Peter turns back to Bruce, and slowly moves back to his seat, a little resigned. He just has to hope this’ll work, and hold the Hulk off until Wanda and Pietro get there. 

Peter racks his brain for anything that might help, and comes up with a very brief comment Bruce had made once, when Peter had mentioned working with Ned and MJ. 

“So, I remember one time,” Peter starts slowly, and Bruce’s green eyes fix on him with something like desperation in them. “You mentioned a woman named Betty. I think you loved her. But you haven’t seen her in a while, have you?” Bruce jerks his head to the side once. No. Okay. That’s good. “I’m sorry. That really sucks. You said she’s smarter than you? She must be pretty awesome, then, cause you’re really smart.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Steve return. Wanda’s behind him, wrapped in a red robe, and Pietro’s not wearing a shirt, but they’re there, that’s what’s important. “You think you could tell me anything else about her? I’d love to know more,” he says to Bruce. He waits until Bruce is concentrating on trying to articulate something before glancing towards the others. “Pietro, the stuff the walls are made of is kinda like bullet proof glass. It’s really strong, but if you vibrate your hands fast enough, you should be able to break it, or at least crack it enough for Steve and Bucky to break through. Wanda, as soon as they’re through, put Bruce to sleep.”

Tony raises an eyebrow in something like surprise, and Steve and Bucky nod once in understanding. Bruce is still struggling next to Peter, but his skin is a touch less green, so Peter isn’t as worried as he could be. His Spidey-sense is still going nuts, but he’s trying to remain calm. 

Pietro makes his whole body vibrate and lays into the wall. It cracks faster than expected, but won’t break. Bucky doesn’t wait for Pietro to move. He moves Pietro, drags him out of the way with his flesh hands, and slams his metal fist into the splintering material. It cracks more, but doesn’t break, even when Steve begins helping. Bruce’s back hunches and he lets out a strangled cry, and Peter’s eyes widen just a bit. 

Wanda shoulders her way in front of Steve and Bucky without a word. 

She raises her hands, and a wave of red energy flows over her head, and into the wall, and it shatters on impact. 

Bucky looks impressed. 

Wanda leaps into the room, and smacks a hand to the back of Bruce’s head, and just like that, Bruce is Bruce again, slumping to the floor. 

Peter lunges forward to catch him before he hits the ground, and lets out a sigh of relief that feels like it deflates his entire body. 

God that was terrifying. 

Bucky steps into the room, and takes Bruce’s weight from Peter, lifting Bruce over his shoulder’s in a fireman’s carry. 

“He’ll wake up on his own in an hour or so,” Wanda assures. “Quick thinking, Peter. I’m glad you’re both okay.”

Steve claps him on the back, and leaves his hand there while Tony assures them all that he’s adjusting the Code Green Protocol. 

They all take a breath, and then Bucky starts to leave. Peter follows, and together, they head up to medical, to get Bruce in a cot and hooked up to a vitals monitor, just in case. 

Peter slumps into a chair next to Bruce’s bed once they’re done. To his surprise, Bucky pulls up a seat next to him. He answers before Peter can question. 

“It seemed like when I’ve tried to fight off the Soldier, in the past. I want to know he’s okay,’ Bucky admits quietly. 

He places a hand on the back of Peter’s neck, a comforting weight. He doesn’t remove it until Peter stops trembling, and they don’t leave until Bruce gets up to come with them.


	5. Thor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is literally the sappiest, softest shit i have ever written, i hope you all enjoy it.

Peter is, in short, terrified to approach Thor. Thor is a god, and a very attractive one, and Peter’s tiny gay heart cannot handle it. 

He’s fine when they’re all gathered together for Sam’s mandatory team dinners, or when Clint demands that Peter help him teach Thor about video games, or when he’s sitting with Bruce and Tony and Dr. Cho, talking science, and Thor will join in the conversation with things he learned while on Asgard, and through his travels of the universe. 

Group settings are fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine. 

And then, a few days after the Almost-Code-Green incident, Peter jerks awake with a strangled screech, his heart beating too fast in his chest. He looks down at his hands, expecting them to be covered in blood, looks up at the ceiling, expecting it to come crashing down on his head any second, looks wildly from side to side expecting to see huge vulture wings and Toomes’s illuminated green goggles swooping in closer, closer, closer--

Peter is very, very much awake. 

He can’t remember the specifics of the dream, but there’s an overwhelming sense of urgency left over from it that he can’t shake, and he needs to get out of his room, huge as it is, to somewhere with more space, or he’s going to lose it. 

He flees his room, taking off for the common area, not expecting anyone else to be there. 

He is not alone as he expected he would be, when he gets to the kitchen. 

Thor is sitting there, his head in his hand, looking over a sizable stack of papers, a mug long forgotten by his elbow. Brunnhilde is slumped over in the seat next to him, asleep with her head on the counter. 

Peter freezes in the doorway. 

Thor looks up and gives Peter a tired smile.

“Hello, Spiderling,” Thor whispers, and Peter almost cracks a smile at that. Thor almost never greets him with his actual name, coming up with various spider-themed nicknames, to rival Tony’s. He always comes back to Spiderling, though. It seems to be a favorite. “What are you doing up at this hour? You should be in your quarters, resting.”

Peter shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep,” he says softly, matching Thor’s pitch. He doesn’t want to wake Brunnhilde. “What’re you doing up?” he counters. 

Thor’s smile widens just a touch. 

“You’ve got me there, I suppose.” He sighs and runs a hand over his hair, and then leans back to stretch a bit and Peter thinks his heart is going to stop because wow, that little celebrity crush he’s had on Thor since after the Battle of New York has most definitely not gone anywhere.

Unfortunate. 

Peter sets about boiling some water, because he needs something to do so he can remain calm and collected and not freaking out about being alone and having a conversation with a literal god.

This is fine. 

Thor is still talking. “Brunnhilde and I were looking at plans for New Asgard. Setting up a civilization of refugees on a foreign planet is rather difficult, as it turns out,” he says, and the tone of his voice makes Peter pause. 

Thor sounds… really kind of sad. Tired and worn out, most of all, but definitely sad. 

Peter flips the switch to turn on the electric kettle and turns back to face Thor, who has gone back to staring at the papers in front of him. As Peter watches, Thor absently raises his arm, and gently cards his fingers through Brunnhilde’s hair, brushing it out of her face. 

Brunnhilde lets out a rather unattractive snore. Thor smiles in response, and the look is so soft and adoring that Peter has to avert his eyes for a moment, because he feels like he’s intruding. He busies himself collecting mugs from the cabinets, to give Thor a second. He clears his throat before he turns around, for good measure, and holds up a mug in question. 

“Thank you, but I don’t drink tea,” Thor says. 

Peter shrugs. “I don’t either. I was gonna make some hot chocolate. Want some of that?” 

“I can’t say I’ve ever had it,” Thor says, a little distractedly. 

Peter smiles, and places both mugs gently down on the countertop. As he goes around retrieving the hot chocolate from the cabinet, and whipped cream and milk from the fridge, and digging up cinnamon from the spice rack, he says, “You’ll love this. It’s how my Uncle Ben used to make it for me, when I was having rough nights right when I started living with him and my Aunt May.” 

The electric kettle switches off, and Peter pours it into the mugs, mixes in the powder, a splash of milk. As he’s shaking the canister of whipped cream and trying to be quiet about putting a liberal amount of it into each mug, Thor speaks, and Peter almost sprays whipped cream all over the counter. 

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but you’ve spoken of this Uncle before, and your lovely Aunt. I am aware you live with them. Why do you not live with your parents?” 

Peter’s movements falter, but he recovers quickly, and answers softly as he sprinkles a touch of cinnamon on top of each veritable mountain of whipped cream. “My parents died when I was a little kid. In a plane accident.” He hands Thor a mug, careful not to spill on the paperwork on the counter. “My dad’s brother, my Uncle Ben, and his wife took me in. It’s just me and May now. Ben died a little while after I got these powers. That’s why I decided to become Spiderman, really. I don’t talk about my mom or dad or Ben much cause it always gets pushed into the ‘where are they, then?’ territory and that’s just depressing. I don’t want to be constantly reminding people of that, you know? So I just kind of avoid it, unless someone asks. Losing people hurts and being reminded that you can lose people hurts too.”

Thor gets a very sad look in his eyes. 

Brunnhilde stirs, and Peter’s Spidey-sense scratches in his ears, and he gets the distinct feeling that she’s not asleep, anymore, but she’s trying very hard to pretend that she is, so Peter says nothing. 

“I, too, have lost my mother and father, and a great many of my dear friends. Loss is never easy. Not even after centuries of living. Even when you gain new people in your life, even when they mean everything to you, the loss can weigh on your mind.” 

Peter frowns at the look on Thor’s face, and nudges the Thor’s mug a little closer to him. 

“You know, Uncle Ben always used to tell me this was the best way to fix a sad heart, when I was a kid. I’d have bad dreams, or I’d start missing my parents, and I’d go to him and he’d make us hot chocolate, and ask me to tell him what was making me sad. He’d sit there for as long as it took me to get it all out, and then he’d tell me funny stories or happy memories he had of my parents. He’d say,  they’re gone, but we haven’t forgotten them, and because we haven’t forgotten them, they’re still affecting how we live our lives, and that makes it like they’re still here, in a way. It always made me feel better, for a while, at least,” Peter says, and Thor finally really looks up at Peter, and takes the mug offered to him.

He smiles, when he takes a sip, licking whipped cream from his upper lip. 

“This is splendid. I much prefer it to tea. Thank you, little one,” Thor says, and Peter’s not even upset about being called “little one”. When Thor says it, it sounds just fine. 

“So,” Peter prompts softly, leaping up to perch on the counter across from Thor. Brunnhilde shifts again, this time tipping her head to the side. Thor doesn’t notice, but she’s definitely  awake, watching Thor discretely out of the corner of her eye. “What’s making you feel sad?”

Thor drains most of his mug in a single gulp, and worries his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“I do not wish to burden you, little one.”

Peter shrugs. “Hey, it’s what friends are for. I’d say we’re friends, right?”

Thor takes a deep breath, and glances towards Brunnhilde, who snaps her eyes shut just in time, and nods once. 

“I have a sister. Had a sister, Hela, that I didn’t know about. My father imprisoned her in Hel, because her power and bloodlust became too great to control. And when my father passed, she was released. While Loki and I were with Banner on Sakaar, she killed a great many of our people. In the end, We had to destroy her, and Asgard to stop her. I am saddened by the loss of my home, of course. But,” Thor lets out a long, heavy sigh. Peter thinks of different gods, of the sky balanced on backs and worlds carried on shoulders, and he thinks that not even a god should have to bear that sort of weight. “I think I am most saddened by the loss of a sister I never knew. I wonder if I had known her before, if we’d had the chance to grow up together, if maybe things would have ended differently, or if she was destined to become what she did, simply because she was burdened with the guard of the dead. I guess it’s pointless to wonder, at this point, but I can’t seem to help it.”

Peter sets his empty mug down beside him, and tugs one knee up to his chest, his other leg dangling over the edge of the counter. “It might not do anything, but I think it makes sense. I mean, you still love Loki, after everything he’s gotten himself into, cause he’s your brother and you care about him. Even though you didn’t really know Hela, I mean, she was still your sister, and you’re wishing you could’ve been there for her. But dwelling like that doesn’t do anything except make you sad. Mourn your sister, I guess, but don’t get hung up on what could’ve been. Maybe spend a little more time with Loki, and remind yourself that you’ve still got one sibling who doesn’t actually want you dead, no matter how many times he stabs you or whatever. I dunno.” 

Peter wonders what it is about quiet conversations in the middle of the night that fills him with the courage to go dispensing advice like this. He thinks it’s the sleep deprivation. That’s probably it. 

“Wise words, Peter,” Thor says, once again reaching out to tuck stray hairs behind Brunnhilde’s ear and out of her face. She turns, and kisses the palm of Thor’s hand, before he can draw back. Her smile is soft. Peter remembers seeing the same sort of smile on Aunt May’s face when she looked at Uncle Ben, on on his father’s face when he looked at Peter’s mother. 

Brunnhilde must really love Thor, Peter thinks. 

Thor snatches her hand and presses a kiss to each of her knuckles. She steals her hand back and gives him a playful punch on the shoulder. 

“The child’s right,” she says, with one eyebrow raised. Her head is still resting on one folded arm on the counter. She doesn’t look like she’s moving any time soon. “You can’t keep worrying yourself with what Hela might have been, or what you might have been able to do. That sort of thinking is what drove me to Sakaar in the first place. It won’t do you any good, Your Majesty.” She says the title fondly and a little mockingly. Thor tugs on her ear in response. 

Peter ducks his head for a moment, once again feeling like he’s intruding. 

Thor hums softly, seemingly in agreement with what Peter and Brunnhilde have both said, and Peter looks up when he hears a mug scrape across the counter. 

“Try this, love,” he says, and Brunnhilde finally lifts her head from the counter.

She sips the hot chocolate carefully, and then finishes the mug in one gulp. 

“That was fantastic. What is it?” she asks, and Peter beams. 

“Hot chocolate. Thought it’d cheer Thor up. He seemed a little stressed,” Peter answers.

“You’re perceptive,” Brunnhilde says. “His Royal Majesty seems to think he has to take on every responsibility for New Asgard on his own, despite Heimdall, Sif, Korg, Skurge and I offering to help him.” Brunnhilde lays her head down on her folded arms on the counter again, and looks up at Thor with an expression that’s caught somewhere between adoring and terribly, terribly sad. 

Peter raises his hand like he’s in class waiting to be called on. 

Thor looks to him and Brunnhilde raises an eyebrow. 

“I know I’m still a kid and I have like, school and stuff to do, but I mean, if you want a hand with helping the Asgardians learn about Earth and Earth culture and stuff, I can definitely help you out with that? I can help you get together some things that’ll help them understand popular media and how a lot of our societies work and stuff like that. I’m helping Steve with Bucky doing the same sort of thing, right now, anyway.”

Thor cocks his head to the side and his forehead crinkles a little. Peter worries he’s done something to offend Thor, before he speaks up. 

“Little one, that would mean a great deal. Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”

Peter shrugs. “I mean, it’s not like I can like, go spend time in New Asgard teaching people. I got school. But I can set up a Stark tablet with all the things that are probably important to know about modern Earth culture? Asgardians are all good with Earth tech, right? I don’t know how big the disconnect is, cause you’re all pretty far ahead of us in everything in a lot of respects.”

“Most think it’s the other way around. That we’re inept because we cannot understand.”

Peter scoffs at that. “Asgard’s been around for millennia. That’s dumb. If someone sat them down in front of some tech from 1912 or something, they’d be confused too. Duh.” 

Brunnhilde smirks. Her eyelids droop, like she’s seconds away from falling asleep again. She yawns, and through it, she says. “I like him, Thor. I hope our child will be like him.”

Thor’s eyes go wide, and so do Peter’s, and they both snap their attention to Brunnhilde, but she’s already asleep. 

Thor’s eyes are big and Peter thinks they might actually be full of tears, so Peter makes a decision. He hops down from the counter, and scoops all of the papers up from in front of Thor, tapping them into a neat pile and shoving them back into the filing folder that was hidden underneath them. 

“Get her to bed. I’m sure this can wait till tomorrow,” Peter suggests. 

Thor nods, and scoops Brunnhilde into his arms. 

“And congrats, man,” Peter says. Thor smiles, and then he’s gone. 

~*~

A week later, when Thor and Brunnhilde announce to the rest of the Avengers that they are going to have a child, Thor doesn’t look so stressed. He looks well and truly happy. 

Peter thinks he deserves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya bitch made a twitter, come follow me. https://twitter.com/queerbot_3000


	6. Brunnhilde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter talks about vomit and also alcohol withdrawal, and a character experiencing that, so tread lightly with that stuff. 
> 
> i'm not too sure how i feel about this chapter, so feedback is appreciated!

When the Avengers get calls while Peter’s there, Peter is usually left on his own, with a big empty compound all to himself. In the wake of Thor and Brunnhilde’s announcement, Peter is no longer alone. 

A couple of days after they tell the team that they’re having a baby, the Avengers are called out on a mission that’s minor enough that no one’s particularly worried, but widespread enough to warrant the whole team being dispatched. They all suit up and make for the quinjet, but the second Brunnhilde makes to follow them, Thor gives her these big pathetic puppy dog eyes, and she rolls her eyes and slumps unhappily back into her chair, muttering something about not even being that pregnant, yet.

She grumbles until Thor’s out of sight and then sinks further into the couch and wraps her arms around herself, and Peter doesn’t miss the slight tremble in her shoulders. He thinks she’s forgotten he’s even there. 

He also thinks that she seems like she wouldn’t appreciate him hovering, so he quietly slinks away from Brunnhilde, and leaves her in peace, though he wonders what it was all about. 

The disturbance is, of course, in New York City, so Peter calls Aunt May and makes sure she’s safe, and then he calls Ned and MJ and tells them to be sure to stay away from Midtown, and to keep their families safe. 

And then he goes to the common area and pulls up news coverage on every available holoscreen and watches the people he’s come to think of as his aunts and uncles, his brother and sister, his  _ family _ , fight to save innocent lives at the risk of their own. He feels like he might choke on the worry. 

It doesn’t register for a very long time that Brunnhilde has disappeared from where Peter left her. He’s just beginning to wonder where she’s gone off to and if she’s alright, when his Spidey-sense starts screeching at him, in the same sort of way that it had when he first brought the Maximoffs home, or when he’d walked in on Steve and Bucky’s serious conversation. 

And then he hears it. 

Peter tears out of the room like his life depends on it, though he knows the situation likely isn’t that serious. 

He finds Brunnhilde in one of the bathrooms off the common area, on her knees, hunched over the toilet, puking her guts up. Peter winces in sympathy, before carefully lowering himself to the ground beside her. 

She doesn’t acknowledge him, but when she retches again, he runs a hand over her back and murmurs a few words of comfort, and she melts into his touch. 

Peter thinks it’s strange, because here he is, a fifteen year old kid from Queens, with a centuries old legendary warrior slumped against him while he comforts her as she gets sick. He can imagine it’d be a hell of a picture if anyone walked in, and then he just thinks that he’s glad no one else is here, because he doesn’t think that she’d appreciate a large audience for this. 

Brunnhilde, to put it lightly, looks like hell. 

She is a few shades too pale, she’s clammy and trembling, and that’s not even mentioning the fact that he’d found her on the floor of the bathroom with her face in the toilet. 

“Brunnhilde, are you alright?” he asks quietly even though he definitely knows the answer to that question already. He doesn’t remove his hand from her back, continues running his palm over he spine in what he hopes is a soothing manner. She doesn’t pull away, in fact she leans closer to him, and after a moment, with a rather pathetic sound, her head flops onto his shoulder, so he assumes he’s doing an acceptable job.

She groans and shakes her head finally, and Peter lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “No,” she mutters, and spits. 

It’s kinda gross. Peter reaches, trying to jostle her as little as possible, and flushes the toilet. Still gross, but now less. 

He very carefully adjusts Brunnhilde, helps her lean against the cabinet for support instead, and gets up. He snags one of the hand towels and wets it with cool water. 

While he wrings it out over the sink so it’s not dripping, he does some math, and then he does a quick google search, and then he frowns. Technically he doesn’t know anything about Asgardian biology but it seems pretty similar to humans, and the internet says that most human people don’t start experiencing morning sickness until around six weeks into their pregnancy. Brunnhilde is about four weeks into hers. Which, okay, she’s not human, but  _ still _ . 

Peter’s Spidey-sense is still tingling, and something feels off. 

He kneels beside her again, and pulls her to lean against him instead of the wall, and runs the cool, damp cloth over her forehead, and the back of her neck. She shivers and groans. 

“Brunnhilde,” Peter tries again, as he holds the cloth to her forehead. “What’s going on? This doesn’t seem like regular morning sickness, if that’s a thing that even happens to Asgardians. I don’t know. I’m just worried. Should I be calling Thor? Should I be calling Bruce? Should I be calling Heimdall so he can get an Asgardian doctor here? I need something to work with,” he says, and it’s a little strangled, cause he’s kind of very worried. 

Brunnhilde just shakes her head, and rests on Peter’s shoulder, and breathes heavily, and then finally lets out a slow breath. 

“No need for a doctor. I’ll be fine. I just have to…” She lurches forward and throws up what can only be bile at this point, and thunks her head against the seat of the toilet. Peter maneuvers the hair tie off of her wrist and pulls her hair back into a loose braid for her. She doesn’t move, but she does continue talking to Peter, after a second. “You know drinking’s bad for a baby? I apparently drink way too much. Excuse me. Drank. I’ve stopped drinking. It’s… unpleasant.”

Oh. 

Alcohol withdrawal. 

Yikes.

Peter places the cloth on the back of Brunnhilde’s neck and just holds his hand there, not pressing, just resting. She leans towards him a little. 

“I was starting to cut back,” she continues, “because I knew I was upsetting Thor and I didn’t like that, but then I found out about the little gremlin growing inside me, and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to slowly come off it. So I quit. How was… Cold turkey, that’s what humans say, right? I quit cold turkey. Stupid saying.” 

She gags and then makes a sound that might be a groan, and sags a little bit. 

Peter gives her a minute, and then chucks the cloth into the sink. “You think you’re done?” he asks, with a little gesture towards the toilet. She nods, and makes a very sad noise of assent. 

Peter gathers her into his arms bridal-style, and leaves the bathroom, despite her protests. 

“Put me down, child!”

Peter shakes his head as he steps into the elevator. “Nope. You look like hell warmed over, and there’s no way I was gonna leave you in the bathroom,” he says gently. 

She goes quiet, when she sees that Peter’s brought her to the quarters she shares with Thor. Peter’s quiet as he brings her over to the bed, leaving her to get situated while he sprints back down to the kitchen. 

He returns with a sleeve of saltine crackers and a can of ginger ale, and a stack of fresh wash cloths from the linen closet and his laptop from his room. Brunnhilde watches him through hooded eyes as he wets one of the cloths for her in the bathroom, and pops the can and opens the sleeve of crackers and sets everything on the nightstand on her side of the bed. 

“Small sips of the ginger ale, and don’t go crazy with the crackers. But it’s supposed to help settle your stomach,” Peter says, and he feels a little ridiculous giving instructions to a literal Valkyrie, and even more ridiculous laying a damp cloth on her forehead like she’s a sick child. But Brunnhilde breathes out a sigh of relief when the cloth touches her skin, and some of the tension seems to bleed from her muscles, so Peter can live with feeling a little ridiculous. 

He brings the trash can from the bathroom to set next to the bed, just in case. 

He pulls up a chair, and tells FRIDAY to give them an update on the situation in the city, and when FRIDAY says there are no reports of casualties, civilian or otherwise, Peter asks her to bring up a movie on a holoscreen at the end of the bed. 

And then Peter flips open his laptop and starts researching alcohol withdrawal symptoms and how to help. 

By the time the movie is half-way done, Brunnhilde is asleep, and Peter is terrified to leave her side. 

He asks FRIDAY for an update on the situation, and learns that it has escalated, not in terms of the scale of the violence, but it has become far more widespread than they were anticipating. She tells Peter that Tony sent forward a message that the team will be staying in the old Tower in the city, working in shifts until the situation is in hand. He says not to worry, and to stay put in the compound, and that someone will let him know when they’re wrapping up there. 

So Peter’s on his own. 

He takes a deep breath, and contemplates screaming into a pillow, and thanks FRIDAY for the update. 

He sends the message forward to Aunt May, and to Ned and MJ and tells them all to make sure they stay safe, and to pass the word on to everyone they know. 

And then he turns his attention back to Brunnhilde. 

This is the situation he has some semblance of control over. Worrying about his family in the city won’t do anything. 

Helping Brunnhilde is something he can do. 

He glances at the timeline he’s pulled up on his laptop, and thinks for a moment, and then lays the back of his hand against Brunnhilde’s forehead. After a moment, he listens for her heartbeat too.

She’s burning up, and her heart is hammering in her chest. He looks at the timeline again, and thinks that they’re probably somewhere between the twelve and twenty four hour mark. 

He thinks that that’s fine. He can handle it. 

And then he hopes and prays that withdrawal symptoms aren’t as bad in Asgardians as they are in humans, because the brightly colored graphics are telling him that twenty-four to forty-eight hours brings with it seizures and shakes and hallucinations, and he’s really, really not equipped to deal with that. 

He tells FRIDAY to put on some Disney movies to distract him and ends up crying over  _ Lilo and Stitch, _ which is of course when Brunnhilde begins to stir. 

Peter tries to compose himself before she’s fully awake, but he’s still got tears welling in his eyes and a puffy, red face when she looks over at him. 

Her eyes go wide, and she tries to sit up, and Peter remembers that hours twelve to twenty-four also include confusion just in time for her to attempt to lunge towards him, with worry written all over her face. 

“Child, who has done this to you? Where is the guilty one?” Brunnhilde says, half sitting up and reaching out to grasp Peter’s shoulder, and then she looks around and shakes her head. “Where are we? I do not recognize this place. What is the meaning of this?” she demands. 

Peter has to stand up to get enough leverage to press her back into bed by the shoulders. 

“Hey, hey, Brunnhilde, it’s me, Peter, remember? We’re on Earth, uh, Midgard, in the Avengers Compound. We’re okay. You’re safe, I promise,” he says, quietly, keeping his hands on her shoulders, though she’s not trying to sit up anymore. It takes a few long, drawn out moments, but Brunnhilde finally nods, and relaxes. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and Peter wasn’t expecting an apology, but he smiles at it nonetheless. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” he says and she opens her mouth like she’s going to protest, so he cuts her off before she can. “Everyone needs a little help, from time to time. Even legendary warriors.”

She nods, and drifts off into fitful sleep again not long after. 

Peter continues on his Disney marathon and pointedly does not think about the situation in the city except to periodically check in on his friends and Aunt May. Steve and the Maximoffs text him brief updates every once in a while, so Peter doesn’t worry about them too much. Brunnhilde wakes up confused and unaware of where she is a couple more times over the next few hours. 

The situation in the city persists. 

The twenty-four hour mark is rapidly approaching, by Peter’s calculations. 

To his immense, immense relief, it does not bring anything more than a fine tremor running through Brunnhilde’s body. 

Peter, despite his great effort to remain awake, slumps over and falls asleep with his head resting on the bed near Brunnhilde’s feet. 

He jerks awake to a hand on his back some indeterminate amount of time later. 

“What? What! I’m awake! I’m awake!” he cries, leaping to his feet, and looking wildly around the room. 

“Easy, Spiderling,” Thor says, and Peter’s whole body sags in relief. 

“Oh thank god. You’re home. Is everyone okay? No one’s hurt, right?” A quick glance at the bed tells him that Brunnhilde is asleep, and that’s good but still... “Oh, holy shit, Aunt May, and Ned and MJ, I’ve gotta check with them. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I was trying to keep an eye on Brunnhilde and make sure everything was going okay, you guys were gone way too long, and I--”

“Peter,” Thor says, placing his hands on Peter’s shoulders and holding him in place. “Your Aunt May is absolutely fine. Steve stopped by before we left the city to check on her. Wanda and Pietro have texted your friends, and they are fine as well. Calm, little one.” Peter takes a deep breathe. It’s shaky on the way out, and Thor pulls Peter into a hug. “Brunnhilde woke briefly, before you did. She told me what you’ve been doing for her. Thank you for watching after her when I could not. We are both in your debt. I cannot express how grateful I am for what you’ve done.” 

Peter laughs, just this side of hysterical, and shakes his head as he pulls away from Thor. 

“Don’t worry about it. She needed someone. I’m happy I could help her. It’s nothing, really,” Peter assures him.

Peter yawns then, and is hit with a sudden feeling of bone deep exhaustion. Even though he’s just woken up, the fear and anxiety from the past day seems to have caught up to him. 

Thor claps him on the shoulder with a smile. “Go, rest. You need it,” he says, as though he is not the one who’s fresh out of battle. But he says it with enough authority that Peter doesn’t argue, and he passes out the second he hits his bed.

~*~

As soon as Brunnhilde is feeling better, she and Thor sit Bruce and Peter down, and they say that they want Bruce to be their baby’s godfather, and then they ask if Peter will be the godbrother.

Peter thinks that they fundamentally misunderstand how that whole things works, but he accepts anyway. 

Who is he to argue with a god, after all?


	7. Clint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i'm trash about updating on a regular schedule. oh well.
> 
> a character is injured in this chapter, and it's described a little graphically, but not for long!

The end of the summer brings about the end of Peter’s stay with the Avengers. He still goes up for weekends, sometimes, and the Maximoffs come down almost every weekend he’s not there, so Peter doesn’t find himself missing them that much. The twins bring various Avengers with them on their visits too (Steve and Bucky are frequent guests. They have an ongoing argument with May about which borough is better. May’s winning but they’ll never admit it.), so Peter never really feels like he’s missing them. It still feels strange to wake up to only May, in their cozy apartment, instead of waking up to Wanda and Pietro near knocking down his door, or Steve gently shaking him to tell him that he’s made breakfast, or Natasha offering to spar, or Bruce offering to get something done in the lab quick before they start the day. He loves May more than anything, but he still feels oddly like he’s missing part of his family. 

However, the end of the summer, and the end of his stay means that Queens’ Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman is back in the neighborhood, which means he can patrol to his heart’s content (or until May’s strict eleven P.M. curfew, midnight on weekends), and it means that the Avengers cannot so easily shut him out of helping on missions, at least ones in the city.

May is less than thrilled about this fact, but she also knows that he’d try to help no matter what, and if he weasels into working with the Avengers, at least he’s got back up. 

Peter’s just thrilled to be out in the field with the Avengers. 

He’s still not technically part of the team, yet, but he knows Steve is itching to add him to the roster, just to give him some protections, though there is a whole mess of other nonsense to go through before that can happen. 

Regardless, Peter fights by their side, which is how he ends up on a rooftop, shooting taser web grenades at passing flying death bots, with Clint at his back. Clint’s arrows take out another six bots in one fell swoop, and Peter’s webs send two crashing into a passel of others and Peter whoops, and then the building starts to shake beneath them, and Peter’s Spidey-sense loses its goddamn mind.

“Time to go!” Peter shouts, and grabs Clint around the middle and shoots off a web, and slings them over to a neighboring building. 

They go crashing through a window on the second floor, a stray bot coming spiralling in after them, and then the building they had been on only moments before lilts to the side and collapses to the right, directly into the building that Peter and Clint have just settled into. Clint doesn’t even seem to notice until the building around them shakes and shudders and stills again, which worries Peter right off the bat. 

And then, Peter goes to the stairwell to check if they have a way out, considering the window way out is now blocked by building, and calls back to Clint that the stairs are blocked off too, and Clint still doesn’t answer and Peter smacks himself on the forehead. 

When he returns to Clint, sure enough, Clint’s picking up the pieces of his ruined hearing aids from the ground, grumbling unhappily. Peter remembers him saying before that he hadn’t had a chance to put in the in-ear aids he normally wears in the field before they left the compound. Shit. 

He tries to get Clint’s attention, and only partially succeeds before the universe decides to really royally fuck with them. 

The bot that had come careening through the window after them, seemingly disabled, starts firing rapidly, with no particular target, setting two minor fires in stacks of office supplies and blowing up one piece of brick from the collapsed building, and, most importantly, blasting a hole in Clint’s side. 

Peter sees it coming, and still can’t wrestle the bot into submission fast enough. He zaps it, shutting it down, seconds after it fires the shot that hits Clint. 

Clint, for his part, lets out a strangled scream, and falls to his knees, breathing harshly through the pain. 

Peter, for his part, spends a solid minute panicking, and then gets it together enough to pitch the remnants of the bot into the corner of the room. 

He makes for Clint, as soon as the bot is dealt with. Clint’s doubled over on his knees, clutching his stomach and making little pained noises that Peter thinks he doesn’t even realize he’s making.

“Hey, Clint, let me see where it got you,” Peter says, putting a hand on Clint’s shoulder to try to get him to straighten out. 

As it turns out, that was a horrible idea. 

Clint flinches violently away from Peter and then lashes out with one arm, the other still curled protectively around his midsection. Peter leaps away, sticking to a desk, and perching there, before he catches the look on Clint’s face. 

His eyes are wide and terrified, scanning the room for potential threats, his chest heaving with the effort it’s taking him just to breath, and shit, that is a  _ lot _ of blood staining his uniform. 

Clint’s eyes finally land on Peter and he visibly sags a little bit, letting out an audible sigh, and Peter smacks himself in the forehead. 

Of course Clint is scared. He’s injured and probably dazed from blood loss, and he can’t  _ hear anything _ . No wonder he’d flinched away from Peter. 

Peter puts his hands up in something like surrender, and slowly steps down from his desk perch. When he certain he has Clint’s attention, he brings his hands down in front of his chest. 

_ You need to let me take a look, _ Peter signs. His movements are slow and a little choppy, but he knows he’s getting the signs right. He’s been teaching himself and practicing with Natasha ever since he learned Clint is deaf. 

He’s never actually used sign with Clint, though. He’d meant it to be a surprise for him.

So Clint, for a long, drawn out moment, just stares at Peter in shock, and then clumsily signs back a yes, and promptly tips forward as his knees give out beneath him. 

Fuck. 

Peter lunges forward to catch Clint, wincing when Clint lets out a pained whimper, and gets Clint on his back as gently as he can. He rips the hole in his uniform bigger so that he can more clearly see what he’s working with, and then throws up in his mouth a little. 

Clint side is a mess of burned flesh, irritated pink and angry red and charred black, surrounding a deep gash that’s still bleeding sluggishly, soaking Clint’s uniform and the gloves of Peter’s and Peter doesn’t know what to do. He has no first aid supplies and they are stuck in a maybe collapsing building and he is alone and he has no first aid training either and Clint is maybe dying and oh god what is he going to do. 

He rolls up his mask, so that it’s not covering his mouth anymore, because he feels like he can’t breathe. Clint visibly relaxes when Peter does that, and, oh yeah. Lip reading. Clint can lip read. It must make him a little more comfortable knowing he can do that if he has to. 

Okay. So Peter’s done one thing right, so far, at least. 

Small victories. 

He steadies his breathing and tries to steady his hands. He only mostly succeeds. 

He feels on the edge of a full blown panic attack, but Clint is here and he is definitely hurt and maybe dying and Peter is the only one there to help him and he has to do something. 

Peter looks at Clint and for a second, sees Uncle Ben, and a bullet wound instead of a blast from a death-bot, and Peter can’t fucking breathe, and then it’s Clint again. It’s Clint, lying there in front of him and he’s trying to school his features, but he’s not all there, and Peter can tell how much pain he’s in. 

_ Stay here. Don’t move. I’m not going far, _ Peter signs, making sure that Clint gets all of that before scampering off to see if he can get any further than he had before. The stairwells are all caving in, and the windows still aren’t an option, so they are well and truly trapped here. Peter is at least able to get off an SOS beacon though, so, small mercies. He returns to Clint without an escape route, and without anything that could be used to help the gaping hole in Clint’s side. 

His hands are trembling. 

He looks down at them, squeezes them into fists to try to calm himself down, and very suddenly gets an idea. 

It’s probably not the greatest, but it’s about all he’s got to work with. 

“Clint!” he calls out, and he’s just close enough and just loud enough that it catches Clint’s attention.  _ You won’t like this. I need to patch your wound shut, _ Peter signs, gesturing to his web shooters after, because he doesn’t have a real sign for those yet. Clint’s eyes go wide and then narrow quickly after and he groans and drops his head back against the floor. 

He gestures vaguely towards Peter, his movements clumsier than Peter’s really comfortable with, and Peter takes that as a go ahead. 

He positions his wrist over Clint’s side, and webs the wound shut. 

Clint makes a strangled noise, and lurches forward just enough to grab Peter’s forearm, clutching at him tightly, and breathing through his teeth. 

As soon as he’s gotten some composure back, he signs,  _ Burns, _ and Peter winces. The web fluid likely doesn’t feel too good on an open wound, but it’s stopped the bleeding. That’s all Peter cares about, as bad as he feels for putting Clint through more pain. 

He props Clint up against one of the desks and flops down on the floor next to him, and begins signing, as quickly as he can, the first story that comes to his mind, making sure that Clint interjects, that he’s not losing consciousness. 

And then there’s another story. 

Some questions for Clint. 

Another story. 

Another story.

Another story. 

Peter thinks he’s going to develop early onset arthritis or something by the time this is all over, but he doesn’t dare stop signing to Clint, because it’s keeping the both of them alert. 

Peter’s hands don’t shake as he signs. 

They don’t. 

He tells Karen to double check the SOS beacon every five minutes like clockwork, because he can still hear the sounds of emergency responses vehicles and faint cries for help outside of the office they’re trapped in and Peter’s worried that the SOS might stop working while the team is focused on the fight and then it’ll be missed and they’ll be stuck in there forever and Clint’s going to die and Peter can’t help him and--

Peter’s hands stumble on the next couple of signs and he clumsily moves one fist in a circle in front of his chest, and stutters out an apology. 

His hands are not shaking.

They’re not. 

His voice is not trembling. 

It is not.

Clint reaches out and grabs the hand Peter still has clenched into a fist. His grip is weak and Peter gasps out a little noise that he’s really glad Clint can’t hear. 

“It’s okay,” Clint says, aloud, with a little smile, and Peter actually whines at that, because he knows how much Clint hates talking without his aids, because he’s not totally certain what he sounds like. The fact that he’s doing it for Peter, to comfort him, when he’s bleeding out through a hole in his stomach, makes Peter’s heart break just a little. 

Peter grabs Clint’s hand back and sits up just a little bit straighter. If Clint can smile for his sake, he can keep going for Clint’s. 

So he finishes the story he was telling. 

And he continues talking to Clint, for what feels like an eternity, and turns out to be an hour and a half. He has to re-web Clint’s wound once, just to be sure. 

By the end of it, he’s certain he’s going to vibrate out of his skin, or scream, or cry, or throw up, or all of the above just for good measure. 

When he hears Steve call, “Peter! Clint! You in here?” near the end of the umpteenth odd childhood memory he’s recounted for Clint, and it is like music to his ears. 

“In here! We’re here!” Peter calls back, and that catches Clint’s attention enough that he looks towards the door too, relief written in the lines of his face as Steve steps through the door. 

Peter lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when Steve says that they’ve made a hole big enough to get out through the stairwell, and he gives Steve the quick version of everything that had happened, and how bad Clint is hurt and then the next thing he knows, he’s in civvies and slipping quietly back into his apartment. 

Logically he knows he must have returned to the Tower with the team and gone to a debriefing with them, and checked on Clint and made sure that everything was okay before he came home, but he cannot, for the life of him remember it. 

“Peter, honey?” May says, and oh look, he’s in the kitchen now. “Peter, what happened, are you hurt? I swear to god, if you’re hurt, I don’t care if they’re Captain America and Iron Man, I will  _ kill _ Steve and Tony I--”

“M’fine, May,” Peter mutters, and sways on his feet. “M’not hurt.”

He sways a little more and May wraps him up in her arms, and holds him tight as he chokes on something that might be a sob. 

He blinks and he’s on the couch, and he’s babbling to May, everything that happened, and how he’d thought Clint was going to die, and it was so similar to Ben and he was so scared and he cries and May holds him and they fall asleep slumped against each other on the couch. 

Peter doesn’t complain about the crick in his neck the next morning, and May doesn’t either, when she sees a very large, very expensive box of chocolates on the counter, a little tag with and arrow drawn on it attached to the lid.


	8. Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have nothing to say for myself. this was originally probably going to be longer, but i would rather finish it up nicely for everyone than let it sit unfinished forever, so here we are! happy reading!

Peter Parker hates the winter. It’s too cold, and too dry. When it snows in New York, it takes mere hours for it to turn from pristine white to a slushy, mushy grey that sloshes into shoes and soaks into clothes and is generally disgusting. It makes it hard to drive and harder to walk. 

Peter Parker hates the winter.

He’s never had this kind of trouble with the weather before though. He can’t remember ever living through such a ridiculously cold winter. Sure the heating’s all but gone out in the school building due to all the snow in the past week, but it isn’t the first time that this has happened. He’s been in buildings with faulty heating before. The school has never had the most well-regulated temperature, during any season. But he can’t recall it ever being so freezing fucking cold. 

He’s got layer upon layer on already, he’s pushing rules for the dress code with how many layers of sweaters and jackets he’s wearing and he’s still so goddamn cold. 

He tries pushing it to the side, tries to focus on his schoolwork and pay attention to his teachers but by third period, he’s trembling from the cold, his joints aching with it. He doesn’t make it even ten minutes into the class before he decides it’d be best for him to give up. He feels sick, but that’s not possible. He doesn’t  _ get _ sick anymore, not with the powers and the crazy enhanced healing and whatnot. He literally cannot be sick. 

Something must be terribly wrong. 

He raises his hand and the second the teacher looks at him, she sends him to the nurse’s office without him even needing to utter a word. That doesn’t exactly give him a surge of confidence. 

Peter makes it halfway to the nurse’s office before he remembers that Aunt May is at work. There’s no way she’ll be able to come pick him up and there’s absolutely no way in hell that he’ll be able to make it anywhere on his own. 

Shit. 

Next he knows it, he’s lying on one of those stupid long chairs in the nurse’s office, and she’s asking him who she can call for him. 

Peter debates it for a few seconds, before grimacing and heaving a deep breath. 

“Captain America.”

“Very funny, Mr. Parker, but I’m really going to need a number I can call. I can’t let you go home alone.”

“Bruce Banner?” 

“Mr. Parker!”

Peter shakes his head, and instead of saying a name, rattles off a string of numbers. The nurse sighs and rolls her eyes, picking up the landline to call the number he’d given her. 

On the other end of the line, Peter hears Steve’s voice answer, “Steve Rogers, how can I help you?” 

“Mr. Rogers, this is Nurse Caldwell from Midtown Science and Tech High. I have a Peter Parker here with me who isn’t feeling well. Are you able to come pick him up?”

“What? Peter’s sick? Yeah, yes, I can come get him, of course. Can I talk to him?” Phone-Steve says. 

Nurse Caldwell responds in the affirmative, and passes over the phone to Peter. 

“Peter, bud, what’s going on?” Steve says as soon as Peter’s got the receiver in his hands. 

“Hey Cap. How’s it going?” Peter’s teeth chatter so hard as he speaks that he can barely make out what he’s saying himself. 

“Jesus, kiddo, what happened to you?”

“M’Cold, Steve. M’Really, really cold. Can’t stop shaking. You’re coming to get me, right?” He’s just now considering that Steve might not actually be in the city. He knows that recently, Steve’s started keeping an apartment in Brooklyn, but he splits time between there and the compound. Peter’s got no real guarantee that Steve’s anywhere near him right now. 

But, like he always does, Steve pulls through for him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m on my way in just a couple minutes. I’m at my apartment, so I’ll be able to get there quickly. Just. Okay, who did this to you, pal? Is it a poison? Some kind of chemical? You didn’t tell us you got into a fight recently.”

“Didn’t. I’m just really cold. I think I might be sick,” Peter mumbles. 

“Peter, I don’t think you can  _ get _ sick, with your powers. I’m really worried. Look, I’m on my way, just hold tight, pal. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Thanks Steve. You’re the best.” 

The phone disconnects then, and Peter hands the receiver back to the nurse, and curls in on himself to shiver and chatter his teeth in peace until Steve gets there. 

He’s half dozed off by the time someone’s gently shaking his shoulder. 

“Pete, hey pal, come on, we’ve got to get going.” 

Peter rolls onto his other side, to see who it is, because that’s not the nurse’s voice, and he comes face to face with none other than Clint Barton. 

“Clint!” Peter exclaims, but his teeth are still chattering, so it’s a clattery approximation of Clint’s name at best.

“Oh man,” Clint mutters, and then he signs, “You look awful buddy, let’s get you home.” 

Peter weakly signs a thank you, with shaky, shaky hands, and then wraps his arms around himself. It feels like it’s only gotten colder in the time he’s been sitting waiting for Steve. 

Wait. 

Steve.

He was waiting for Steve, why is Clint here. 

Apparently, he signs that out to Clint, because Clint shifts to the side and hooks a thumb over his shoulder. Steve is standing behind Clint, filling out an early dismissal form with the nurse, who seems to be completely dumbfounded by the fact that Captain America is standing there in civvies, signing out a sick student. 

He loses track of anything except being ridiculously cold for a few minutes, and the next thing he knows. Steve’s got an arm looped around his waist, and he’s leading Peter out of the building, while Clint follows, talking to someone on the phone. Peter doesn’t pay too much attention to the phone conversation, instead opting to question Steve. 

“Why’s he here too?” 

Steve snickers, but answers, “I only had my bike with me at the apartment. Needed to borrow a car, and Clint was nearby. Bruce is going to meet us at my apartment too. We’re worried about you, kid. You shouldn’t be looking this rough.”

Peter nods a little sleepily. It feels like his bones are grinding together, rattling with his shivers. 

He’s so fucking cold. 

“Wow, language, Pete,” Clint chastises. Shit. Peter hadn’t meant to say that out loud. 

“Sorry,  _ dad _ ,” Peter teases through his chattering teeth. Clint snorts and then returns to his phone conversation. 

Steve shoves him in the back seat of a car then, and Peter only vaguely aware of the car ride and Steve and Clint talking to each other. Steve gives Peter his jacket halfway back to the apartment, and he all but carries Peter up the two flights of stairs once they get there. Peter’s not actually that weak, but he is shaking he’s so freezing, and Steve takes pity on him. 

Bruce is waiting for them when Clint kicks open the door. 

“Peter, you’re not looking too good.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that? I get it. Rude.”

Clint snickers and helps Steve get Peter situated on the couch. 

“Alright, let’s take a look, Pete,” Bruce says, and Peter lets Bruce check his pulse, and his blood pressure and his blood for toxins, and when he still finds nothing, sticks out his tongue to let Bruce stick a thermometer under it. He thinks it’s a  little ridiculous, but he still lets it happen, because he figures, at this point, why not?

“Oh my god,” Bruce says when he draws the thermometer from Peter’s tongue to look at it. “There’s no way you should be alive right now, your temperature is way too low! How is this even possible?”

“I dunno. How bad is it?” Peter’s eyes widen comically when Bruce turns the thermometer his direction so he can read it. “Oh shit. That’s… I mean. That’s not right. What’s happening to me? I mean the heating was kinda out at school, but that can’t be it. I’ve never been this sick, not even before the spider bite.”

Bruce seems to consider that for a moment and then it’s like something clicks together all at once. 

“Spiders. That’s it! Peter, spiders can’t thermoregulate. You’re not sick, it’s just-- Clint, turn up the heat, and Steve, grab as many blankets as you can. We’ve just got to warm him up, that’s all.” Bruce turns back to Peter once he’s done doling out tasks, and gives him a gentle smile, the kind they rarely ever see from Bruce. “You’re fine, Pete. You’ll be alright.”

Peter returns the smile, and clenches his teeth to keep them from clattering together, and breathes a sigh of relief when Steve returns with blankets. He sits up on the couch so he can curl himself into the tiniest ball he possibly can, to try to conserve warmth. He lets himself be wrapped in blankets and sinks back as far into the couch as he can go, and he drifts off before he even notices. 

When Peter wakes, he’s comfortably warm, still wrapped in his blankets, and flanked on either side by Thor and Brunnhilde. He smiles and thinks he mutters something half unintelligible and slips back into sleep again. 

He wakes with a start, again, a short while later, and glances around, his breath catching in his chest at the unfamiliar surroundings, before he takes in the people with him. Thor and Brunnhilde still sit on his either side, Steve and Bruce hard at work in the kitchen. Clint is sitting at the table, Wanda and Pietro with him, the three of them engrossed in a game of cards. Something plays quietly on the TV in front of them all. He thinks he hears someone mention the others coming soon for dinner. 

Peter, warm and safe, is more content than he has been in a while. 

He feels so content, that he almost falls asleep yet again. 

That is until he remembers something that has him sitting bolt upright, panic coursing through his veins. 

“Oh god, I forgot to tell Aunt May where I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ [ishuri!](http://ishuri.tumblr.com/)


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